


La Fée Verte

by criminalwriting



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminalwriting/pseuds/criminalwriting
Summary: Whilst investigating the deaths of four women in Virginia, the team uncovers the wild, thrusting, and vibrant underworld of a nightclub which seems to be the missing key to solving their investigation. Meanwhile Spencer falls for the main act.





	1. The Green Fairy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever fanfiction and it was a struggle and a half to write but it's here and I appreciate all constructive feedback! 
> 
> This was wrote after being forced to watch Moulin Rouge for three days straight for an essay

“La Fee Verte” Spencer reads the words etched from the frosted glass, squinting slightly as he tries to see inside.

“Huh?” Morgan asks, turning to face his partner. 

“The Green Fairy.” 

“Like on our vics keychains? What do you bet they all came here?”

It had been sheer luck that had led them here. A receipt found stuck in the corner of Chrissy Gadot’s (victim number 4’s) bag. It had been this discovery that had led the authorities to call for the team. With four bodies on their hands and only a cheap green metal fairy hanging from the vics keys to connect them, the receipt had been the break they so desperately needed. 

“Actually-” 

“We’re closed” The voice of a small girl cuts him off. The two agents reaching for their badges as she peeks through the door.  
“I’m doctor Reid and this is agent Morgan, we’re with the FBI” Spencer starts, noticing as the girl instantly shifts backwards, tightening her grip on the door. “Chrissy Gadot worked here, do you know when she last showed up.”

“Chrissy? She was last here tuesday..” She nods, her grip on the door loosening. “Is she okay? Can’t be good if FBI are looking after her.”

“I’m afraid we found her body this morning. Who’s your employer?”   
“Harry Crane. He’s not here though. The show starts at eight” 

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions ma’am?”

She shakes her head, swallowing dryly and leaning closer towards them. “Eight o'clock” She gives them a final nod before shutting the door and leaving the trail of her silhouette to disappear from the frosted glass. 

Morgan sighs. “Guess we’re coming back tonight” 

\--

By eight o’clock, Spencer and Morgan had once again pulled up outside of the sickly green building. The once empty streets now littered with lines of men all dressed in their Sunday best. The large windows emitting lights of pink and yellow whilst silhouettes of girls danced and drank within each white frame. 

 

And it had taken less than a moment for the agents to be welcomed inside, a tall man in a jewelled waistcoat and a seemingly mute voice had taken a single look to their badges and gestured for them to follow after him. And with little choice, the agents obliged. Following him through the foyer, where already the chatter of excitement spilled out from the open doors, thousands of voices clamouring over the band and the laughter growing easier as the alcohol begins its rounds. 

Bringing them inside the hall it was clear to them both that it had once been a theatre, where the stalls had once sat was now a dance floor filled with scratched up wood and surrounded by packs of men all formed from bankers and brokers, bachelor's eager to spend a penny. It seemed as though men from all wakes of life had crawled from their corner of the earth to celebrate under the domed ceilings of La Fee Verte. And those that didn’t stand, sat in velvet soaked booths, watching the girls that served as much of the background as they did the fleeting centres of attention. Draping themselves over balconies and each other. Dressed in every fantasy that could be thought of, scenes set away from the heart of the show pandering to the wants of the guests. Girls in mermaids tails sat in oversized oyster shells, contortionists on stools, women holding onto one another as they dance on pedestals, live snakes in the hands of others. 

It was a whirlwind of tantric excitement, every corner you looked you would be greeted with a new sight, a new distraction. Everything as loud and bold as the ornate fixings themselves. The stage and floor overlooked by the band, controlled by every note they struck. And for a brief moment they brought silence, the men crowding in excitement as the first few notes are played and the once empty dance floor is invaded by the fierce movements of the dancers, and the men are once again alive. Each costume as individual as the girls themselves, heavy skirts lifting and falling, high kicks and splits against the polished wood floors. Flashes of stripes and fishnet, ruffles and garter belts. Each movement growing faster and faster, the room spinning with their movements as their voices collide in a salacious harmony. 

The jewelled man leading them on the outskirts of the chaos, away from the violent and mesmerising fluidity of the dancers, waving for both men to follow him up the stairs, leading them past the band and into a dark and poorly decorated room backstage. Mirrors lining the walls, and stood in front of a dresser was Harry, his dark eyes looking up to inspect the intrusion. The jewelled man, who Harry revealed to be named Wonderful, speaking for the first time to introduce them. 

“The police are a popular presence but FBI? Must be a special occasion. That badge doesn’t get you a discount on admission though boys.” Greasy and large, Harry turns around, the confidence in his voice going beyond the definition of arrogance. 

“We’re -” Spencer begins, ignoring the soft laugh of Harry.

“Yes yes, you’re here because four of my girls are dead. It’s tragic. However I do not like my time being wasted so, I know nothing, I’ve seen nothing, and apart from the royal boxes, we don’t keep records of our patrons. Are we done?” 

“All four girls worked here?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Chrissy was one of the new dancers. The other three weren’t exactly big acts. Understudies and performers that worked up in circle and on the balconies.” 

“Can customers access all these areas?”

“Depends on their ticket. If you pay for a ticket for stalls, you have access to the floor show and the balconies. But circle ticket holders are restricted to the circle and balconies. We have bouncers on every entrance all night to prevent patrons mixing.” He clasps his hands together, looking between the two with a slight sneer “Now. f you don’t mind gentlemen, I have a show to get on with. If you’re staying you’ll need a warrant or a ticket and I suspect we’re a little out of your price range.” Rubbing his hands together he strides between them, his shoulders brushing both agents as he leaves. Wonderful giving them an apologetic smile as he holds the door open for them. 

Wonderful leads them back out into the corridor, following it back out into the main hall where the ravenous cheers still called out. 

“Our unsub most likely meets the girls here. We know that he’s keeping them for three days, and there’s a week between each abduction so he’s most likely using that time to learn their schedule, could be coming back here to see her.” Morgan suggests, Spencer nodding in agreement as they begin pushing their way through the crowds. 

“Wait here” Wonderful turns to them, his voice sincere as he holds both hands out before disappearing into the crowd, leaving both agents slightly confused as they look to one another. Using their new found time to look through the crowd, but nobody standing out. Even to them all the men seemed as desperate and eager as the last. 

Then all at once, the obscene and carnal music comes to a stop. The warm lights gone and a darkness spreading into the corners as a single spotlight steals their focus. Stood at the highest point of the stage, shrouded by the spotlight. No words or sounds escaping her but already she had the attention and adoration of the crowd. Stepping forward, the click of her heel echoed around the hall, the desperation in the onlookers as they begged for more. Her corseted bodysuit, sparkled, the green diamante catching in the spotlight, the tulle train grazing her calf, the fabric catching slightly on her white stockings. 

As she begins singing, the band holds back. Allowing her voice to fill the room by itself, pausing after every line to move closer to the audience, fixing her eyes on nobody but everybody seeing that the look was for them. Her movements as graceful as they are demure, “... But I prefer a man who lives…” Pausing once more as she reaches the flat of the dance floor, Spencer swearing that for a moment her eyes met his. “...and gives expensive. Jewels.” The band springs to life as she begins her routine. Twirling and stepping, the crowd moving with her, men with fistfuls of money and gifts, saps with flowers and earnest smiles bending to her song. Performers around her dressed in clown suits and waistcoats made of jewels lifting her up as the song demands, ensuring that the desperate hands that reached for her never wander too far. 

“You came!” The voice of a young girl startles them both, Morgan smiling as he recognises her as the girl from before, Wonderful stood beside her as she grins excitedly. “I see you’ve already met Y/N” She laughs, nodding towards the girl playfully ignoring the reaching hands as she sings. “She’s our Green Fairy. I thought that you might want to speak to her. She’s the one who got me and Chrissy a job here. But she knows Harry better than anyone, if he knows something, she’ll know.” 

“Do you think we could speak to her?” Morgan asks, nudging Spencer slightly as his attention remained a little too focused on the shaking curves of Y/N’s dress, his cheeks flushing. 

“I’ve already set up a meeting, just you and Y/N, totally alone.” Gesturing to her heavy sunset skirt with its embroidered parisian skyline she shakes her head. “I’ve still got the show to do so wonderful will take you to her.”

“Thank you, uh?” Morgan prompts, the girl shaking her head in realisation.

“Oh sorry, Trixie” She introduces, giving them a parting smile her hand waving above the crowds as she disappears. 

\--

Before long, both Reid and Morgan were stood, awkwardly and a little uncomfortably inside of Y/N’s room, it wasn’t large by any means, with a large heart shaped bed taking up at least a third of the room, the other two thirds dedicated to props for entertaining, small tables with champagne and bottles of absinthe gathering dust, a piano, untuned and untouched sat in the corner, a divider with clothes hung over artfully giving the pretence of intimacy. Even a balcony overlooking the dance floor far below. 

“Do all the girls have rooms like this?” Morgan asks, gesturing to the room.

Wonderful, stood in the doorway replies first with a nod “Only the dancers. We do have rooms for our other performers but only dancers get their own. None are as extravagant as this” 

“Did Chrissy have one?” Morgan asks. “Think you could show me?” He follows Wonderful to the door, looking back and winking to the rather lost looking Spencer. 

Now alone, he takes the opportunity to look around. Opening drawers and sifting through them, unsurprisingly only finding changes of clothes and make-up, the odd phone charger and a small notebook, but as he reaches for it the click of the door makes him jump back, trying to push the drawer back in as it jams in the process. 

“Looking for something?” Y/N speaks softly, shutting the door, dragging a hand up her thigh keeping her gaze fixed on the young doctor as she walks slowly towards him, no regard for personal space as she shuts the drawer herself and turning towards the small table. 

“I wasn’t… I was just.” He points to the drawer, shaking his head as he stammers. “I’m uh Doctor Reid.”

 

“You look a little young to be a doctor.” She raises an eyebrow, lifting the bottle of champagne from the ice and tilting her head. “Champagne, Doctor?” She reaches for one of the faux crystal glasses. Each move she made was calculated, Spencer could see it in the way she didn’t leave him time to answer, the routine in her fluidity. For him it made it easier to suppress the flush in his cheeks. Reminding himself this was her job.

“Uh no thank you. I have a few questions if you don’t mind.” 

“Oh?” The bottle of champagne clatters into the ice as Y/N puts it back with just a little bit too much force. Composing herself in less than a second.

Y/N dealt with all people from all walks of life. Before she was the star of Harry’s show, she had been only a dancer, she had learnt how to adjust each smile for every type of man. The perfect laugh for every person. She knew that the aggressive man needed a womans touch to put him in his place. The hero needed a woman to save. It was a simple switch. And the man before her was no different. She’d noticed the flush, the stutter, how he fixed his gaze to the wall behind her. Nervous men weren’t her usual clientele. But she wasn’t unfamiliar. They either needed a gentle touch or a firm hand. It was a simple matter of figuring which. 

 

“Perhaps then we would be more comfortable sat down?” 

She takes a few steps back, gently taking his hand and keeping her eyes locked on his as she pulls him after her, leading him towards the bed. 

“Trixie said that you got Chrissy her job here…”

“You want to talk about Chrissy?” She replies, dropping his hand and shifting uncomfortably. “I got her an audition. Look if you’re looking for a job I can -”

“No no I’m a federal agent. We think whoever hurt her may have met her here.” Spencer speaks quickly and Y/N’s eyes grow wide as she suddenly understands the situation.  
“Oh God. I’m so sorry, Wonderful didn’t mention that you were here on business business.” Y/N shakes her head, slightly embarrassed. Trying to rectify the situation by sitting down on the edge of the bed, Spencer watching her for a moment and sitting beside her, Y/N facing him as she speaks. “What did you want to know?”

Spencer begins with his questions, Y/N answering them honestly and without much consideration, both relaxing as they go on.

 

“Do you know if Chrissy had a boyfriend or anyone in her life?”

“I don’t think so. Most girls here don’t have relationships, it’s not in our contracts but it’s generally frowned upon. It always leads to trouble and it can cost you your job if Harry finds out.”

“What about any customers who had a special interest in her?”

“There was this one guy she told me about. Small, blond curly hair. He didn’t like it when she drank. But I haven’t seen him in stalls all week.” 

“Would she have a record of his name?”

“Unless she kept a personal record or he paid with a credit card, no.” She shrugs, moving away from him and over to the bottle of champagne, pouring herself a glass. Spencer refusing to acknowledge his slight disappointment in the empty space beside him. Watching as she leans against the small table, trying to keep his gaze away from the lace tops of her stockings and the way they curved around the soft skin of her thighs. Y/N downing her first glass of champagne, Spencer growing suddenly aware of the dryness in his throat. 

“You look like you need a drink, doctor.” Y/N asks, smirking slightly as she pours champagne into the spare glass and holding it out towards him. His dark eyes flickering in consideration, and for the first time that night feeling the slight touch of relief as she became a step closer, considering every time she so much as stepped closer to him, a doe eyed look would flicker across those same dark eyes, and even now she could see him evaluating the situation. “You don't have to be so serious Doctor, I'm not trying to catch you off guard” She speaks coolly despite it being a lie. 

He shakes his head at the drink, Y/N pouting but shrugging with a flounce as she sips from it instead. “I can’t drink when I’m working.”

“It’s a pity” She laughs gently, not taking her eyes from him. Even as the door clicks open and Morgan hovers in the doorway, glancing between the two and smirking as Spencer stands up all too fast. 

“You ready?” He asks, Spencer nodding and walking over to the door, glancing back to Y/N and giving her a half wave.  
“See you again, Doctor” 

Both men step out into the hall, Morgan turning to Spencer and nudging him whilst giving a grin that looked all too much like the cat that ate the canary, Spencer trying to ignore it as they walk away, wondering if he would be seeing her again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new lead opens the case, but Y/N is having troubles of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consistent update schedule who???? Okay I know it's been a while but I have part 3 already wrote so I just have to post that at some point so like it's basically a consistent schedule. 
> 
> Reader and Spencer don't interact with each other this chapter, but part 3 is entirely them so ?

“Are you afraid?” Harry watched her with impatient eyes. The glass in his hand stained by greasy fingerprints as he presses it to the desk. His irritation plainly growing as the room remains silent. His feet heavy on the chipped wood as he paces, his reflection merely a shadow in the wall of mirrors behind him.

“Harry. It’s hard not to be…” Y/N breaks the silence, Harry stopping his pacing, slowly turning to face her. “Four of us have gone and it’s hard not to think who could be next.”

“Are the bodies turning up on our doorstep?”

“The police are.” She retorts. Stepping closer to him, planting a hand gently on his arm as he reaches for the bottle. His shoulders relaxing slightly as he turns to face her. “Harry, you know we trust you. The girls feel safe with you.” The lies leave her lips in soft words, “But you can’t protect them outside these walls, and they’re growing aware of that.” Looking up to him, pursing her lips slightly as she speaks and gently rubbing herr hands up his arms. “If you offered something to them. Some protection outside, escorts home or paying for a cab, you’d ensure they want to stay. I’ve already heard talk among some of the dancers.” 

“We can’t afford it.” Even if he shakes his head, the contemplation is light on his face as he turns away from you. 

“From the cut you take to our pay I’m sure you can.” 

He scoffs moving away from her and pouring more into his glass before downing it. “Don’t push it Y/N.” The pair go quiet for a moment, the sound of his swallowing filling the room, the gentle taps of glass on wood as he refills. “If you’re serious about wanting to protect these girls, you’ll do anything.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilts her head. “Anything.” 

“James Miller. Investor type, gave me an offer a few months back.” He keeps his dark eyes firm on her as she takes his glass from him. She recognises the name, knows the type he is. “He could offer our girls more protection than I could. But you know his type.”

“What does he want? You wouldn’t be beating around it if you just wanted me to fuck him.”

“Clever girl.” He mutters, refilling the glass in her hand. “He offered a deal. Security, renovations, costumes, training. The full works.” 

“What’s the catch, Harry.”

“His terms. He’s an investor. Protective over his investments. One particular investment. You.”   
As she steps back from Harry he follows that step, stooping to her eye level and his hands outstretched towards her. “Think of the money. Imagine a future outside of here. He could give you that.”

It was the glint in his eye she’d seen the week she met him. It was the glint of gold. Of a pirate pulling sugar from a dead mans hands. A glint that sent shivers to her spine. 

“You want me to…” She lets the words trail off from her lips as his hands hold her arms. She always knew this was a day forthcoming. But in the green haze of La Fee, in the forgivable acts that brought a smile to the lips of many, she’d forgotten who she was to him. “Harry I…”

“You can’t be selfish kitten, think of the girls safety. If you turned this down, it’s their blood on your hands.” He takes the glass from her hands as she shakes her head, her cheeks burning pink. Trying to move away from his grip. “Would you want that, Kitten? If the girls, if your friends died, would you want to know you could have stopped it?” 

“No” Her voice is barely a tremble as he lets go of her. A thousand arguments caged by her lips as she leaves the room. Her cheeks burning and hips almost numb from the ridiculous cinching of her corset, forcing herself to take shallow breaths as she follows the red carpets to the stage. 

-

Two days had passed since they had first stepped foot into La Fée. Two days that Spencer had spent struggling to see anything but Y/Ns smile. His mind often distracting him with the flash in her eyes or replaying the sound of her laugh as she’d teased him. Occasionally he was sure that he could still feel the pull on his wrist as she’d led him. 

Until, the door to their makeshift office swung open, Detective Mills poking into the room, shuffling with his arms crossed. “Agents? There’s a dancer here to see you.” 

Spencer tucks his hair behind his ears, smoothing out his shirt, Morgan smirking as he shakes his head, gesturing for Mills to show the girl in. 

“Trixie?” Morgan frowns, the small girl no longer dressed in parisian skylines, the exhaustion hanging under her eyes as she looks to the two men. Light from the door pouring in from behind her. 

“You remembered my name!” Trixie beams up at him as she peers around the office, catching the pictures of the girls behind him, and looking away with a lump in her throat, catching Morgan's eye. 

“Is everything okay?” 

She shakes her head, pulling at the sleeves of her jumper as Morgan offers her a seat beside them. “I want to help. Harry threatened our jobs if we spoke to you but I guess better unemployed then dead?” She laughs nervously.

Spencer frowns to himself, leaning forward as he listens to her speak. 

“But I’ve speaking to people since you guys came, I found out that Chrissy, Angel, and Nina were covering for Leela the night they. You know.” She pauses, shifting uncomfortably on her seat, “I just thought you should know. Before Harry cuts you off anyway.” 

“You know her last name?” Morgan pulls his phone from his pocket, 

“Uh it’s Harris. She lives with her boyfriend.”

Morgan nods as he snaps into action, dialing Penelope’s number and leaving her with Spencer. “What’s the routine when you’re covering for one of the other girls?” His voice is low as he looks to her in sympathy. 

“Harry doesn’t like it so it’s kept under his nose. We sign in for who we’re covering and we just take any of the men who she’s meant to be entertaining. We get to keep her tips and she gives us the pay at the end of the month. Sometimes we just do it for favours though.”

“Favours? What kind of favours?”

“Lifts home, cover a shift, if you’re like Nina or Angel you’d likely do it for a good word with Harry so you can work downstairs.” She leans back in her chair, looking up as Morgan walks back in. 

“We’ve got an address.” Turning his attention from Spencer, he gives Trixie a warm smile. “Thank you, we know that this was a big risk for you to come to us with this information.” 

“It’s nothing. I just... don’t want anymore of my friends to. Yeah.” She shakes her head, hesitating before reaching out to Morgan. “Do you think you’ll catch him?” 

“We’re doing everything we can. We will catch him.” He gives her a sincere nod as she stands up, walking alongside him to the main doors, Spencer watching as Trixie gives him a toothy smile, the trust clear in her eyes as she waves to them both, Morgan sighing as she walks away. 

After Trixie’s visit, Spencer had found it easy to block out the thoughts of Y/N’s smile, of her legs, and voice. After all the leads had come in thick and fast, and left little time for him to think of her. But that ease soon disappeared. He couldn’t stop thinking of the kaleidoscopic colours, of the haze that surrounded La Fee, it’s intoxicating nature making him almost crave the panic of the dance floor. It at least made sense why so many returned to squander their cash.

“Kid, where you at today?” Morgan asks Spencer across the hall, shaking his head and laughing 

“Sorry uh what?”

“It’s this one” He nodded to the door that seems to have been yellow at some point in its life. The continuous strain of dead ended clues had finally given up and taken them to Leela Harris’ building, a building which is seedier than the activities of La Fée, the outside seemed drowned in a haze of bad smells and sewage works, the brickwork covered in gouges and graffiti, windows bordered up and inside was home to an elevator that looked like one misstep would have them plummeting into the six elevator deaths per year. 

He knocks once. Then twice. Spencer beside him kicks a piece of paper from his shoe as he knocks a third time. Each time no answer. The concern growing firm in the potent air around them.

“Leela Harris?” He knocks a final time, the sound ringing off into the empty halls and drowned by the distant roadworks. Giving a nod to Reid, the two reaching for their guns, he reaches forward, the door unlocked and pushing open. 

Even with the haze of sewage and bad smells, the apartment hits them almost instantly, both reluctant to even step inside as Spencer follows after Morgan, the agents splitting up as they begin to scope out the apartment. The dingy three rooms already upturned and damaged from a past struggle, the hum of flies faint against arguing neighbours. 

“We’ve got blood” Spencer calls out, following the trail, the stench growing worse as he approaches the body laid out on the floor beside the sofa. 

“She’s been dead almost two weeks.” Spencer tells Morgan as he approaches, holstering his gun and shaking his head. 

It wasn’t Leela. 

Finding their first victim explained the lack of escalation in the crimes. Even with the clear defensive wounds, he’d be ready to bet that the cause of death was strangulation. And that night, as the lights of La Fée once again blinded and distorted the consciousness of men, the team sat picking at half empty take out boxes, delving into the delinquent history of Johnny Martin, the owner of the apartment, and Leela’s missing boyfriend.

As Penelope finishes talking, Morgan begins to speak. “He’s disorganised. Even without the evidence of a struggle, his apartment was a mess. There’s no way he committed these murders. At least not on his own” 

“He’s right, Martin’s a gambler, He’s way too impulsive to plan out these murders.” Emily adds. 

Hotch stands up from the table, “Then tomorrow we can look into Leela. She’s the one person that connects all of our victims. But we need to look at this with fresh eyes.” The team begin to follow suit, tucking their chairs in as the conversation comes to a gentle lull of silence. 

That night, as they left for their hotel rooms. As they each spent the night feigning attempts at sleep, or flicking through the case. As Spencer looked out onto the lights spread on the night sky hoping to see the green lights of La Fee. Where Y/N sat in her room, elbows resting against the balcony as tears stained her cheeks and burned at her eyes.


End file.
